


Children lost at sea

by wilhelms



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Other, after barnet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:46:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilhelms/pseuds/wilhelms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne de Beauchamp is pregnant, her husband dies in 1471. What is she gonna do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children lost at sea

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving it a chance!   
> I am copying my works from my rp account (richardnevilleofwarwick).

Children lost at Sea // Anne Beauchamp fic   
Dedicated to Magda, I hope she will read it and happy national Polish day :) , dedicated to Nat, thank you 

After Barnet, 1471   
Under cut: because I don´t want to be annoying and because it is not happy and fluffy 

From the beginning  
Small lifeforms  
They can kill without warning  
So you don’t explode

The day they told her he was dead, she was sitting on her bed, Her hands trambling, her face pale, her lips dry, she was trying to cry, her breaths stuck in lungs, her chest hurt so much. She could not breathe, how, how? Why does it hurt so much? How are her lungs not physically working? Was this how people lost their minds? All those shadows walking the halls of convents, those women who could not talk, who were plucking their hair and mumbling words from other worlds that nobody ever understood. 

Stump your growing limps and thinking  
And you’ve lost them now you’re blinking  
And reminding her of him

She was all alone and she knew it, none of her daughters came to see her. The older forgot, the younger hated her. Nobody came, nobody asked, only her ladies and there were few. She was a traitor after all. 

Oh you steal his features  
And your mother is a bleacher  
She don’t even feel the heat no  
She don’t even want to speak to you

Her hand instinctivelly touching her belly. She was 45, it was ubelievable. For so many years they have been trying for another child. She wanted to give him a boy so much but only two children suriveved out of few, dead too early, refusing to fight for life. “I will give you a boy, my love” she cried on his chest many nights. Many nights she imagined the features of a boy looking just like his father. Was it the child that just died ? Was it him? Her dreamy boy? Her prince? How would we name him? Richard? Thomas ? What about this one? A girl perhaps? Eleanor? This time it will be different, no she won´t let this one be harmed. She won´t let this one suffer. She won´t see this one with a broken heart. 

"Make me a hot bath" she ordered without moving. "hot, make it hot and bring me wine" her eyes dull, empty, emotionless. "Malmsey, please" a death smile, the irony of it all. 

She let her body sink, her skin turning red, fighting the heat, she drunk the wine quickly, once, twice. Was it enough? She prayed and waited. Staring into the celling. 

One, two, three, four, a stream of blood appeared, tears rolling from her eyes, she could not stop the shaking. The screams coming from the bathroom brougth ladies in. Once the elegant Countess of Warwick was screaming from her langs, her arms around her body, her body rocking herself.


End file.
